


5 wands and their owners

by Pearlislove



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Wand POV, Wands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlislove/pseuds/Pearlislove
Summary: The story of 5 wands and the people who owned them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written from the wands POV. My headcanons about 5 wands and the people who owned them. Notes/Information about wands and wandmakers is at the end of the document.

5 wands, and the people who owned them.

 

1.

 

**Queenie Goldstein**

 

Made out of ebony wood and Wampus cat hair, adored with the mother of pearl that my maker always favoured, I was made to be elegant and detailed, but with a powerful core, a wand for those who carried more on the inside than the outside showed.

 

It took my creator two years to be persuaded to sell me, hesitating out of fear that my core was not stable as he had been interrupted while working on it.

 

After all, it wouldn’t do to try and sell a wand that turned out to be defect.

 

Once I’ve been sold, though, I end up lying on a big table at Ilvermorny, the American school for witches and wizards, waiting to pick one of the new students as my companions.

 

There’s a lot of arrogant witches and wizards, that year, and the first fifty or so students that fill the hall is entirely out of question. Fifty more, and there still aren’t that many contestants, making me think that maybe I wasn’t one of the wands that would find a match this year.

 

It certainly didn’t look like it, and fifty more students did little more to help. About fifteen students were currently in question, and they were all being picked by other wands, fewer and fewer of them available as each moment passed.

 

The contact of another wand pressing a message into my consciousness is sudden and unexpected, but not unwelcome, as it whispers a sweet promise in my ear.

 

_ I got someone for you, someone absolutely perfect, a witch like no other. See her, judge her, make her yours to claim! _

 

It whispers to me, and I look up, seeing a brown haired girl of probably thirteen or fourteen, already sorted and owning a wand of her own, entering the great hall. It was her wand that spoke to me, that hissed it's tempting promise like the snake it's snakeskin core once belonged to. 

 

It was confusing, though, because obviously it was not to this girl - already a mistress of another wand - said wand was referring.

 

The dark haired girl is shielding a smaller, blonde haired girl who looked awfully pale and not quite healthy, swaying a little with each step though she carried a determined look upon her face. The other girl, i guessed, had probably been ordered to watch out for her so she wouldn’t drop dead before the term even started.

 

Slowly, the brown haired girl motion for the girl to approach the table, where all the other students are already busy picking and searching among my friends. No one has even touched me so far, sensing that I was not going to be theirs to claim, but the girl seems to notice me right away.

 

More confident than ever, she comes running for me on short legs, all of eleven years old but still so much of a child.

 

“You’re awfully pretty” The girl whispered, bending over the table and looking at me, smiling, and I could feel something resonating in my core,  beating to the rhythm of the girl’s heart. We were both out to prove ourselves, to be something more than the elegance and delicacy of our appearance. I could  _ feel _ , that this was my match.

 

“Want to be mine?” It’s a blunt question, but her eyes shine with inspiration and anticipation as she wait for my answer.

 

I am surprised. I didn’t know witches spoke to their wands like that, like they were about to adopt a pet and wanted the puppies own approval before choosing it.

 

I liked it.

 

Without hesitation, I levitate myself into the witch's hand, shooting pretty purple sparks from my tip to show my agreeance as the witch giggled happily. The girl’s grip felt good, her movement were careful and precise, and I knew I’d made a good choice.

 

Queenie Goldstein, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl carrying a beautiful wand. 

 

Over the years, both me and the witch I’d chosen came to find our place. Because, in the beginning, that was the issue. We lacked a belonging. For two years, I gathered dust as my maker contemplated what to do with me. For many years, she’d stood around and listened to grown ups worrying for where to fit her and her sister in, after their parents died and they lost their natural place.

 

It was not easy, but together we made sure that each of us could come out stronger on the other side.

 

My main use was domestic spells, cooking and cleaning for her and her sister in the apartment they rented. Some anti-jinxes for Queenie’s workplace, that became all the more frequent as time passed.  I didn’t mind any of it, really, it  was safe and comfortable work, and I was well taken care of. I didn’t need to fight to defend myself very often and I liked to stay peaceful that way. 

 

It was always said you could never come back from the first unforgivable they cast, anyway.

 

Still, the day curses and hexes of brutal strength was needed, I was there, and I did it. I used all the power that always resided within my core and I threw it out into the spells with a fierceness that pleased my mistress more than anything I’d ever cast before.

 

That didn’t mean she made a habit out of throwing them, those curses and hexes, though. 

 

We always knew we were fierce, anyway, and we didn’t need to prove it to anyone else when we could feel it on the inside.

  
  


2.

 

**Porpentina Goldstein**

 

I am the first wand my maker makes, an experiment of sorts. He knows wood, his dad was a cabinetmaker, but the magic part is tricky. He choses to make me out of chestnut and add a core of dried snake skin, hoping it’ll do the trick. It does, and I come to life. My appearances is in all regards quite similar to a combination of a polished stick and a door knob, a salutation to the craft of my maker's late father, and though I don't feel particularly beautiful I like my appearance.

 

I come out stubborn, much more opinionated than he meant to, and it takes almost 10 years of tests and tricks, the majority of which just showed that I disliked him, before he agrees to sell me.

 

By then, he’s sold a huge number of my sister's and brother's already, wands younger than me who got to claim a purpose before me. I don’t mind, though, and happily prepare for my journey ahead.

 

I end up on a long table at Ilvermorny. There are hundreds of wands on the table, hundreds of students filling the room, and I realise one of the will get to walk away with me, just like everyone else they so carefully placed on the table.

 

By the time my second year roll around, I start to question if there is really someone who fit me perfectly, quickly scanning the crowds that's attacking the table. Everyone of them got something I disliked. I felt like I needed to be picky because it was, after all, a life long burden to be owned and worn by a witch or wizard, but sometimes I doubted it was worth it.

 

Suddenly, I feel something. It's new and exciting and maybe just slightly familiar and  _ oh  _ the feeling that I feel is  _ hate _ . There's a dark haired witch  who’s dragging behind, her brows furrowed and her mouth set in a decided frown as she purposely stomped across the floor, making more noise than she oughta, and I can tell right away she doesn't want to be there.

 

She doesn't want to be looking at wands and touching them and being in this room more than I do, on my second year, when I no longer think anyone will chose me.

 

She got a little sisters, eight years old and so tiny, and she hate being here miles away from her where she can't protect her, can't talk back to all the adults who never understood them.

 

I like her character, her anger and determination. I decide I want her, and I levitate myself to her hand before she’s even come close to the table.

 

She looks downright surprised as she come to grip me, but after swinging me around and feeling my weight, she felt satisfied. She got to have a wand, she argue, and this one obviously chose her. She doesn't give a damn if one of the teachers is looking at her sideways because of it, or that the other teacher in the opposite corner is gaping at her in open mouthed surprise, because one day she’d get her revenge and hex their asses off.

 

I agree to that, because it sounds fun, and I like the attitude.

 

Years later, I was happier than I’d ever been. The woman I chose was perfect, an auror in time and a confident, stubborn person just like me. She swung me with feeling and expertise and  together we hexed the pants off anyone threatening us or those we loved. 

 

I couldn't feel more satisfied.

 

I had a good companion, too, a kind little wand by the same maker that looked especially elegant. I knew she’d be perfect for my fierce masters little sister from the moment I met her, and had, in all honesty, helped set them up 

 

I knew they’d love each other to the end.

  
  


3.

 

**New Scamander**

 

A wand is supposed to belong to a wizard from the same country as it was made in. It was an unspoken vow, a promise between wand and maker. But only in theory. I’m an American wand, one of the finest there was, but my wizard is British, and though he travel the world I believe that’s where it started, his and my journey.

 

His and my conflict.

 

It continued with our first meeting. You see, when I was handed over, I was promised an Auror. I mean, I could feel it, fierceness and courage flowing like blood through his veins, the classic auror type just like many in his family had surely been before him.

 

I wanted a fighter, and I chose him because that’s what he promised. But I confused fierceness with taste for battle, and courage for provocativeness, and what I got, was the shyest, most avoiding human being.

 

It was a disappointment at first, of course, and he must have noticed how badly I worked for him with the frown residing on his face in every class. He tried everything to make me like him better, but how could I, when I felt so cheated? When his movements weren’t strong and guiding like I wanted them to, but instead asked for help and directions? When he rather run away than face what was infront of him.

 

He wasn’t and would never be an auror.

 

When he was thrown out of school, that was when the fun finally started. When he stopped attending school, he  started traveling the world, instead, and, suddenly, I was being scratched and broken and chewed upon, throwing jinxes and hexes left and right at aggressive natives that he stumbled upon in the jungle.

 

I hadn’t gotten an auror, but an adventurer, and suddenly I wasn't as disappointed anymore. In fact, I  finally started to downright liked my owner. An adventurer was so much more creative than an auror, and I got both grave danger and funny moment s of playing around for his own amusement.

 

He wasn't what I was promised, but I didn't care. After years together I could see something so much better.

 

He was a Newt, and a Scamander. The one and only Newton Scamander.

 

It wasn’t something, that you were promised, it was something those who were lucky enough were given.

 

4.

**Seraphina Picquery**

 

I was made for power and grace, a wand who gave everything and got everything in return. 

 

Swamp Mayhaw and rougour hair, dark arts and a pinch of voodoo, demanded it's price. It demanded strength in soul and conviction enough to guide it right.

 

The girl that picked me would not take a no for an answer. She picked me, and she told me I was hers now. I accepted. She’d need her stone hard conviction to get her where she wanted, and I’d do everything in my power to help get us there together.

 

It was a good relationship at first, stone hard belief in herself radiating from the girl, and she valued me and used me the same way one would a second limb. I was her love, and she was mine, thought nothing could tear us apart. 

 

When she was eighteen, someone told her I was dark, danger flowing through me. My little princess got terrified, and suddenly she was relying more on wandless magic than she relied on me. I didn’t understand, still doesn't fully, because she reeked of voodoo and African curses, so I thought it was something she recognised, because it was so natural in her.

 

Little did I know, the darkness was what she feared the most, terrified to fall down to where she came from, a pit hole full of abuse and minds destroyed by the dark arts. I had thought she was like the woman that made me, and she was, in the bottom of her soul, but she sought to be the opposite.

 

My dark nature put a rift between us. I never did anything bad, never amplified a curse or hex or jinx beyond what she asked me to, beyond the power she put in herself, but it didn’t matter because as soon as she heard what I was she began imagining that I did, and feared that I would. I got jealous and angry, because I had used to be her everything and now to her I meant nothing.

 

I didn’t stop working, didn’t stop listening, I couldn’t, but the natural bondage that we once shared, would never come back to us.

 

**Percival Graves**

 

I was never a loyal wand, never made friends with my owner. But than again, as far as I knew, I wasn't supposed to. As far as I knew, having observed my wand maker and the way he treated his own wand since the day I gained sentience, wands were to be dominated and forced into submission whether they’d be willing to cooperate with you or not.

 

The life of a wand was not one of choice, and therefore, as the dark haired boy that despite being so young has a worry line between his brows and a tight-lipped frown that tell me that  _ he  _ is used to being forced into submission, chose me, it tells me that now it’s my turn. He grabs me, hard and determined, hold me and wave me and expects the response. 

 

I comply. I shoot sparks and I bend for his tight grip and stone fast will. What else was there to do? Such was the life of a wand. 

 

At least the boy who claimed me was warrior, with a fast heartbeat and a paranoid mind that fitted well with emotions and intentions that had flowed into my core during my making. Maybe being dominated by this wizard wouldn’t be as heavy as I thought.

 

I liked fighting, throwing curses and hexes and jinxes at every opponent, relishing in the sweet feelings of victory and success. I belonged to a big shot, someone of importance, and it made me feel important.

 

When my owner was replaced by that horrible European wizard, Gellert Grindelwald, I didn’t mind. Any other wand might have protested and refused to cooperate when it wasn’t their owner waving them, but I wasn’t loyal, never had been.

 

So I just complied, and I survived better than my original master did.

  
  


**Notes of Interest:**

 

**Some information on the wands and motivations for headcanons regarding them in this fanfic. Please read if you're going to ask questions about wands or wand makers:**

 

**Queenie Goldstein, Porpentina Goldstein and Newt Scamander all have Jonker (one of 4 wand makes in America in the 1929s mentioned on Pottermore) wands according to my headcanon.**

 

**Johannes Jonker was a Cabinet maker's son and a muggleborn. His preferred core material was Wampus hair, and he was known for including Mother of Pearl in his wands (hence the reason I believe Newt’s wands to be one of his, and why Tina’s is said to have been a prototype). Newt is considerably older than both Queenie and Tina (3 years + ) but his wand was still made at a later time than Tina’s, because Tina’s was sold at a later time and was picked the second year it was offered to students.**

 

**While most of my facts about the wands and their origin are guess work or headcanon, Seraphina Picquery’s wand is confirmed (by pottermore) to have been made by Violetta Beauvais, a Wand maker from New Orleans who made all her wands out of the same materials. The materials were Swamp Mayhaw (wood) and rougier hair (core), and the core was kept secret for a long time. All her wands were accused taking to dark magic like a vampires to blood, though many powerful people who were regarded as good, including Seraphina Picquery, owned them.**

 

**Finally, Percival Graves has a wand made by Thiago Quintana,  who was known for his sleek and unusually lengthy wands. The core was the translucent spine from the back of the white river monsters of Arkansas. He was a very petty person who refused to share his secret on how to attract the monsters with anyone, the wands with White River Monster spine subsequently no longer  being produced after he passed.**

  
  
  



End file.
